


Proud Of

by GreenVeal



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Culture Shock, Evenutally, Gen, I have no idea where this is going or how long it will last, Illustrated, I’m so sorry, Resurrection, This exists within some horrible fusion of television and comic canon, This is basically it’s own worldbuilding experiment at this point, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-08-04 10:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16345364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenVeal/pseuds/GreenVeal
Summary: Jack Murdock returns from the dead, awaking to a world very different from the one he departed.





	1. Shadow Boxing

If it wasn’t for the sensation of movement, Jack Murdock would have dismissed his situation as an unpleasant dream. He found himself in a dimly lit warehouse, fighting with a man in what appeared to be a red jumpsuit.

Much like a dream, his body moved outside his own volition. Impotently he watched himself swing at his opponent, he was struggling to make sense of his surroundings. His thoughts were hazy and muffled, drowned out by the sound of the rain and the swaying of his coat.

He felt himself begin to lunge at the other man, putting his weight into a single punch aimed at the figure’s head. The man dodged, sidestepping Jack’s fist at the very moment he swung. Before Jack could retract his arm, the man grabbed the sleeve of his coat and tossed him towards the floor. Stumbling to keep his balance, Jack regained some control of his body, catching his step just in time to slam his shoulder into a rusty, iron, shipping crate. He fell to the ground anyway.

The figure waited for Jack to return to his feet, the man stood idle, slowly tilting his head to and fro as Jack laid on the cement floor. Even in his mental fog, Jack recognized the movement: he was being inspected, scrutinized. The gesture was regular to him, with some innate meaning he couldn’t decipher in his current state.

The man’s regard was piercing regardless. Although his eyes were covered by a mask, Jack could still feel the intensity of his gaze. It was an almost tangible thing, as if his opponent was staring straight through him, all while watching from behind and atop him.

Undaunted, Jack pulled himself off the ground and assumed a familiar stance. His opponent took a step forward. He threw another fist, this time aimed at the figure’s gut, and once more the man dodged with an unnatural ease.

He swung again, two punches in tandem. He missed twice. And then Jack was on the floor again. The man allowed him to get back up, again.

It forced Jack to focus, to think. This wasn’t a fair fight, that much was apparent. The other man was significantly larger than him, obviously faster than him, and probably thinking clearly. Yet he never threw a solid counterpunch. Logically, the man in red was going easy on him. Maybe he was toying with Jack, maybe he didn’t want to injure Jack, perhaps he was purposefully throwing the fight.

The last thought rang heavy in Jack’s mind, it triggered faint, faded memories. He took another swipe at the red clad man, who, predictably, ducked under his fist. But Jack was distracted now, he was pulling himself back to cognizance, now trying to remember how he’d even gotten himself into this fight. The last thing he could recall— footsteps behind him— the click of a gun’s hammer—

The sound of a gunshot.

The effect was immediate, Jack felt as if he’d been lifted from a deep trance. And then he realized that was very likely what just happened. A flood of memory ripped through his mind. He remembered his fight with Crusher Creel, he had been paid to throw the match, and he had refused. No, he’d won for the sake of his own pride, he had wanted to show his son he wasn’t a loser. He wanted Matthew to be proud of him.

Jack’s stomach churned sideways as his thoughts turned to his son. Almost a year ago Matt had been blinded in an accident, and he hadn’t left him alone for a whole day since. Oh god, how much time had passed? Jack had no clue how long he’d been incognizant, he still had a large gap in his memory; he suspected he’d been out for hours, potentially days. He swore out loud at the thought, even in a best case scenario Matt had been alone since late afternoon, with no idea what had happened to his father. All while Jack himself still had no idea what had happened to him. 

He swore again, furious, his mind was racing. 

A soft, deep voice cut into his thoughts.  
“You’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m trying to help.”  
The man in red was approaching him slowly, hands extended in a futile attempt to calm him down. His words fell on deaf ears. Jack didn’t have time for any of this shit, he had to get home.

Jack saw the man with a newfound clarity, the bastard was dressed as the devil, little horns and all. Two interlocking capital Ds were emblazoned on the costume’s front, its meaning entirely lost on Jack.

The man continued to close in on Jack, asking. “Are you lucid? Do you understand w-“

Jack didn’t let him finish, he waited until the other man was less than an arm’s length away and lunged. The man dodged, of course, but not quite fast enough this time. Jack managed to cuff him in the jaw. Not as hard as he would’ve liked, but hard enough to hurt. The man staggered backwards and Jack took the opportunity to run.

He banked a hard left between two metal storage crates, weaving his way towards the wall of the warehouse. Nothing made sense, he’d been shot from behind at point blank and somehow survived, and that had somehow gotten him into a fistfight inside of an unoccupied storehouse. There was no clear causation, just a lacuna in his otherwise recovering mind.

The man in the jumpsuit didn’t even follow him, as far as Jack could tell, he had completely disappeared into the darkness.

Now all that remained of Jack’s opponent was the eerie feeling of being watched.

Jack prioritized escape over locating his assailant. The warehouse was a veritable maze of storage containers and shipping crates. Stacked touching one another, they formed dead ends and crooked turns, almost as if the building had been made intentionally hard to navigate, and the low light only made things harder.

While nearing the wall he came to a grim inference on his situation: he’d been drugged and kidnapped, likely as payback for refusing to throw the match. An upsetting thought, but unfortunately it was the first and only logical explanation he’d been able to conjure up since his head had cleared. Perhaps the man was some sort of enforcer, paid to take care of him slowly. To some degree, he expected something like this to happen.

He allowed himself to slow down as he turned a bend and reached the steel wall of the warehouse, walking parallel to it until he found a pair of doors, one of which was being held slightly ajar by a cinderblock. It was either fantastic luck or a sign that the man in red had no key, hopefully both.

He pulled the door open without a sound and slipped out just as quietly. When he closed the door he slammed it all the way shut, pushing the cinderblock back through brute force, all for the satisfaction of hearing the door lock.

The closed door did nothing to avert the feeling of being watched.

He exited out onto the sidewalk, across the street from a semi-familiar pier. At least, he recognized the general layout of the place, but the accouterment was all wrong. A chain link fence blocked him from the dock’s edge, keeping him well away from the ships moored there. He’d never seen that fence before, but it certainly wasn’t new, it was planted at an angle, already rusted by sea spray.

The tie offs were all lined with privately owned boats, replacing the worn fishing trawlers he’d become accustomed to throughout his life.

Fortunately for Jack, the rain wasn’t as heavy as it had sounded from inside the warehouse, it was only a drizzle now, not even thick enough to disperse the fog on the water ahead of him. Large puddles lined the gutters, telling him that he’d missed the worst of it.

To his left, a large truck sloshed down the wet brick road. Its make and model were impossible for him to make out at a distance, but its sheer size surprised him. It slipped from his mind as a gust of wind chilled his bones, colder than any August breeze he’d felt before.

It was looking more and more likely that he had been out for days. By now he would be considered a missing person. People had to be looking for him, he would have been news. Continuing down that line of thought, someone had to have been taking care of Matt while he was missing. He wasn’t a recluse, his disappearance had definitely been noticed. 

Jack’s attempts to reassure himself worked poorly, he now feared that he’d been assumed dead while his son had been taken into foster care. If that was the case he might already be in over his head. He had no idea how he’d even begin to set his life back on course in such a situation.

Another vehicle rushed by, this one just as unrecognizable as the truck. It bothered Jack, something was obviously incredibly wrong, something fundamentally off about his surroundings. It scared him, and it scared him even more to know he didn’t understand what was happening to him.

He had to get home, even if just to assess the damage.

At least he had a fairly good idea where he was, somewhere on the southern end of Katskill, a wide, brick-paved street which lined most of the waterfront of Hell’s Kitchen. He wasn’t far from home, only about a forty minute walk, which made it a twenty-five minute run.

He took north immediately, bolting down the street as fast as he could physically bring his legs to move.


	2. Revenant

The street was sensibly deserted considering the hour, and it wasn’t just late, it was a cold, wet night— abnormally so for the time of year.

In any case, Jack barely considered the absence of other pedestrians, he already had a litany of problems all his own. Desperate to reach home, he ran until his legs burned, he couldn’t stop, not until he reached his flat.

With every step a new worst case scenario would manifest in his mind. Among them was the idea that he had been killed in the aftermath of his victory against Creel, assassinated from behind and then somehow resurrected, or perhaps he’d woken up in purgatory. He quickly snuffed the thought from his mind, it was absurd and he refused to lend it any credence.

Unfortunately, its absence allowed more likely, more immediately frightening ideas to take root in his head. Jack could have been out for weeks, spending his time doing god knows what under the influence of some mind-altering cocktail. For all he knew, he might have been a wanted man.

Worse still, the men who had done this to him knew exactly where he lived, nothing was stopping them from destroying his apartment, taking his savings in reciprocation for the money he’d lost them, or god forbid, somehow involving Matthew in this. Desperate to rebuff these thoughts, he told himself he was being unreasonable, that those scenarios were unlikely and he was simply paranoid after his escape from the warehouse. But he couldn’t dismiss all his worries this way, not the chance that he’d been evicted, or the likelihood that his son had been put into some kind of foster care.

He pushed himself harder, rushing to reach home and assess whatever damage had been done to his life. But exhaustion finally caught up with him as he turned onto Wolfwinkle Street and physical strain forced him to stop and catch his breath.

Putting his hands on his knees to balance himself, he took notice of his sleeves as he did so. He was wearing his Sunday best, or more aptly, the scuffed remains of his Sunday best, frayed and torn in ways that couldn’t have possibly happened during his bout with the costumed man.

It wasn’t a suit he wore often, not even to Mass, too formal for his tastes. Mostly he’d just dust it off for Easter and hide it away until the same season next year. He couldn’t fathom why he was wearing such an outfit— that wasn’t quite true, an unwelcome conclusion had already been set in his mind.

Maybe he really had died. These were funeral clothes. Jack couldn’t quite banish the thought this time. It was still absurd and still just as paranoid, but it felt right, like something he had been told before. Nervously, he ran his hands over his face, half convinced he would find it in a state of decay.

His face was fine, of course it was. His body was warm, he had a pulse, and he certainly didn’t seem to have a bullet in his back.

No, he didn’t, because he’d been shot in the back of the head.

Jack repeated the thought to himself, shocked that it had come from him. He didn’t actually remember being shot, but somehow he knew exactly how it had happened. Defying all logic, he simply knew. The tightness in his gut cemented his death in reality, forcing him to accept it as the truth.

Sick from realization, Jack forced himself to stand straight once again. He still had to get home, he was too close to stop now.

Jack stood motionless for longer than he would’ve liked. He weighed his options in silence, he was only blocks away from his flat. And really, there was nowhere else for him to go, his only immediate relative was his nine year old son, who couldn’t have possibly been nine anymore. Jack had no money or identification on him, no presentable clothes. If he went home he might be able to explain his situation to his former neighbors, maybe get help back on his feet.

He began to move his legs again, aimlessly walking towards his apartment. As he walked he attempted to gauge how long he’d been dead, long enough for a funeral apparently. He remembered how dilapidated the chain link fence on Katskill had been, that kind of wear didn’t appear overnight, or even over the course of months.

———————  
—////////—  
———————

Matthew Murdock stood sentinel on the fire escape of his childhood home, still processing the events of the night. His radar output was nearly as cluttered as his thoughts, a messy barrage of radio waves blaring out across the city, casting a far wider net than he needed. Clearing his mind, he focused on a single moving target. Intently watching a man walking roughly five blocks behind him, paying close attention to the way the man moved, carefully honing in on the sounds of his breathing, the drum of his heartbeat.

With a great discomfort, Matt noted how unfamiliar it all seemed. If it hadn’t been for the man’s scent, Matt wondered if he would have recognized him at all.

His father’s scent was still clinging to his gloves.

Whatever this was, it was a situation he planned on handling with tact, or at least whatever tact he could salvage after getting socked in the jaw. He still couldn’t be sure if the man he’d found in the warehouse really was Jack Murdock, even if he’d set aside most of his doubt once he had bolted for his old home.

Matt had run ahead of the man to bide himself time, hoping that he would be able to contrive a plan of some sort before interacting with him once again. It hadn’t done him much good however, and he still had nothing more reliable than the obvious ‘explain yourself, don’t get punched again’.

The first half was more complicated than the second, it had to be reactionary, it had to be well timed. He needed to calm Jack down before saying anything stupid, crazy, or any combination of the two.

He took a long, deep breath. It was easy to look backwards and regret not telling his father about the abilities he’d gained in the accident, but it was an altogether different beast to plan such a conversation when it was bound to actually take place.

The man was barely two blocks away now, getting slower, but not stopping. His heart was pounding. In only a matter of minutes the man would turn the bend and see Matt up on the fire escape.

Primed as he’d ever be, Matt spent his remaining time feeling over the building itself. A young couple had moved into his old apartment, they were both sound asleep, hopefully he wasn’t about to wake them. A floor above him a mother was watching television with her infant. Beneath him, a man was petting his cat. He felt something like a ghost, haunting the house he used to live in, he tried to remember the view from his perch. As a child he’d leaned on the rail he currently stood on, but the correlating visual eluded him. He didn’t know what that should make him feel, mostly he just felt old.

Jack came jogging down the street, stopping dead in his tracks only moments after he’d made the turn. His breath hitched, but he didn’t run.

Matt raised a hand in acknowledgment, a gesture too stilted to count as a wave.

Jack sighed. Exhaustion hung on the sound.

“Alright.” He said quietly, barely above a whisper, certainly not something he intended Matt to hear. Then he shouted a question. “So who the hell are you?” Before Matt could speak he asked another question. “And what the hell’s happened to me?”


	3. As you don’t know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I’d have this out by Halloween and I actually made it, that feels damn good.

The man in red leapt over the railing and allowed himself to drop ten feet. Moments before he hit the ground he caught himself one-handed on the bannister, rattling the entire structure as he did so; he hung in place for a beat, and then planted his feet on the sidewalk. Once the man stood on solid ground he began walking closer. Moving cautiously, he approached Jack like one would a flighty animal, keeping a good distance between them even as he began to speak.

“You can call me Daredevil.”. He extended a gloved hand as he said such. Jack silently refused to step forward to shake it. 

Quite frankly, Jack would have laughed in ‘Daredevil’s’ face if he hadn’t been so intimidated by the man. He would have kept running if he’d had anywhere else to go, but unfortunately for Jack, he didn’t. His only option was to face the man down and hope he was telling the truth about wanting to help.

Daredevil lowered his hand and pushed his thumb through the loop of his belt. Taking a small step forward as he spoke again.

“Now I don’t know what’s happened to you, I don’t know how and I don’t know why.” Daredevil paused, waiting for a response from Jack that never came. “But I think- I think you’ve been dead for a long time, and I think you came back disoriented and scared.” There was genuine concern in his voice, same as his words in the warehouse.

Jack continued his silence for a few moments more, only speaking as Daredevil began to inch ever closer.  
“And I think that you’re probably right about that.” His voice wobbled, conveying far more emotion than he had intended it to.

“Okay— I need you to understand that it’s been a very long time, and a lot of things are different now. There’s new tenants in that building, in your apartment.” Daredevil gestured to the complex he’d just jumped from. “It’s been twenty five years.

“Twenty-twenty five years?” Jack held the bridge of his nose and steadied his breathing, taking care to keep his voice level. “How do you know that? And how did you know I was coming here?”

“Because you’re Jack Murdock, you were a boxer, and you were murdered by the Irish Mob, you used to live here. Right?”

Jack nodded. Daredevil swiveled his head slightly so. Again, the motion struck a chord in Jack’s mind, it was a familiar gesture, one with interesting implications. It was a motion Jack had seen countless times before. That, paired with the way Daredevil would turn in Jack’s direction without actually facing him, raised an odd suspicion in Jack’s mind. It was almost as unlikely as it was strange, just like everything else that had had happened to jack in the last half-hour.

“Are you- why are you- why are you wearing that costume. Is this what boxers wear now?” Jack changed the subject of his question at the last moment, not wanting to cross any boundaries while prodding a potentially dangerous stranger. 

“Jack, a lot of things have changed in the past twenty five years, and you’re going to need to keep that in mind, because what I’m about to say is going to sound patently insane to you.” 

“I am well past the point of disbelief now, go ahead and tell me.” Jack had already come to accept the abject madness of the night. Weighing every option he could think of, Jack found that he barely even cared. Even if the man was a devil worshiper who’d brought him back from the dead, at least it would come as some form of explanation.

“I’m something of a local superhero, this is my costume”

Jack began laughing, more hysterical than amused, his chest felt tight and his face felt hot. It was complete and utter nonsense, just like everything else that he’d gleaned since clearing his mind back in the warehouse. He was tired, he just wanted to go home.

To Jack’s surprise, Daredevil didn’t seem offended, or even confused by his sudden laughing fit. Instead the man took it as an opportunity to finish crossing the distance between them, grabbing Jack by the shoulder and keeping him steady while he began to wheeze.

“You’re going to bring me to some sort of homeless shelter aren’t you? Or whatever they have now.” He pried the hand from his shoulder and attempted to regain some dignity. “I won’t let you, I need to- I need to-“ Jack trailed off, stuck again by the sheer hopelessness of his situation. He’d meant to say that he needed to find his son, but before finishing the sentence he came to realize exactly what that would entail. If it had really been twenty five years then Matt would be thirty four, a grown-ass man. Jack couldn’t go charging back into his life, at best he’d be a burden, at worst a squatter. 

And that was assuming he could get Matt to believe that he really was his dead father somehow brought back from the grave.

“No. I am not dropping you off at a shelter.” Daredevil’s voice had grown somber, low, almost angry. Jack assumed he’d disinterred a sore topic for the man. “I’m taking you home, my home. You’re going to sleep and shower, and then I’ll get you some clothes that don’t smell rank or rancid.”

It was the most blunt, threatening offer of hospitality Jack had ever received. He wasn’t sure if it was an offer or a statement, but he found himself nodding in response.

Another small tilt of the head.  
“Thank you.” 

Jack kept nodding.

“The wind’s changed- it’s about to start raining again, we should start moving now.” Daredevil began walking, gently pushing Jack along for the first few steps before letting go and prompting Jack to follow him. “I live close by, just ten minutes from here.”

Jack took a final look back at his old flat, his breath hitched as he did so. Loneliness weighed his footsteps as he began walking away.

The cold nipped at Jack’s fingers and face, driving him to move faster. He was sore and exhausted enough to put his faith in the stranger up ahead, half convinced by the worry in his voice and half motivated by the complete absence of other options.

As he followed, he couldn’t help but take notice of Daredevil’s gait, the man took long, bounding steps, puffing out his chest and radiating surety, but that wasn’t all that Jack noted. Daredevil’s footsteps were heavy, each one accompanied by a small shuffling movement of the foot. It was something Jack recognized, Daredevil was feeling over the ground in front of him, it was subtle, likely subconscious, but still present.

Jack was apparently comfortable enough around the ‘superhero’ to press his luck with a personal question..  
“Do you have a vision problem? No offense I hope- but it’s the way you’re walking, I’ve seen it before.”

“Yes, I do.”

Immediately afterwards Daredevil stifled the movement as he led the way, forcing himself to make smoother strides. Jack began to feel sorry about speaking up, he’d read enough paperwork on the subject to know that feeling the ground in such a way was a sign the man couldn’t make out the pavement beneath him. Still, Jack had watched him dive off a fire escape only minuets ago, he couldn’t entirely bring himself to feel bad for the lunatic. 

“My son was- is blind, that’s how I could tell.”

“I guessed as much.” He slowed his walking until he was moving alongside Jack. 

“So you know about Matt, you know what happened to him? I mean, what’s happened to him while I’ve been dead?”

“Actually I know him. He’s a lawyer now, he lives very close to me.”

Jack supposed that explained why the stranger knew so much about him.

“That’s- that’s fantastic, good for him. I’m glad he’s doing well.” A lawyer. It was a nice, prestigious job, something Jack would’ve never been able to achieve himself, he was almost as proud as he was guilty. “Christ.”

“You don’t want to meet him?”

“I couldn’t do that to him. It would just be cruel, to just go breaking into his life, turn everything upside-down. Maybe- maybe after a while, when I have a good handle of what the world looks like now, but not yet. Jesus Christ, I feel like I abandoned him.”

Now Daredevil slowed his steps. His expression was obscured by the mask, but Jack could still make out an almost contemplative countenance.  
“Well I’m sure he’d-“

“And- and I’ll be honest as we’re talking I’m still picturing a nine year old boy, I wouldn’t even recognize him now.”

“I understand.” Daredevil chuffed in response. Jack wondered if he’d disappointed the man with that reply, like he’d been looking forward to orchestrating a father-son reunion.

They had now walked into a residential neighborhood. Jack recognized the place, even if the houses were significantly nicer than they’d been twenty five years ago. He looked over the buildings carefully with the knowledge that one of them probably belonged to Matthew.

Daredevil interrupted his thoughts.  
“We’ve arrived.”

It was a house just like the others on the block, small by two story building standards, but still nicer than anything Jack would ever be able to afford. The paint, windows, and roof all struck him as unassuming, almost generic. No lawn, just an abrupt transition from sidewalk to stoop. 

Jack stood by the steps as Daredevil began fishing his key out from under the welcome mat. 

“That’s a really bad place to keep that thing.”

“I know, I’m looking into a better location.”

Jack huffed a laugh, surprised by how fast he’d become comfortable with the oddly dressed stranger. He supposed it was part of the job description.

The door opened silently, revealing a darkly lit hallway beyond its frame. Daredevil entered first.  
“Watch the vase, people tend to trip on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently thinking about adding Rosalind Sharpe (and the whole mid-nineties status quo that comes with her) to later chapters? I feel like she’d be a good fit for this fic. 
> 
> And maybe Coyote, because I’m the only person in the whole world who likes Coyote.  
> 


	4. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family Reunion - definition: A sandwich comprising of egg and chicken, often served with alligator tenders and key lime sauce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to preemptively apologize for any confusion as I’m leaning rather hard into comic canon when in comes to physical descriptions of things and people in this chapter, I might lean out of that soon.

Matt could hear his own heart racing, he steeled himself, refusing to let it effect his composure. He couldn’t let Jack pick up on his unease. His father had calmed significantly in the time it had taken them to reach home, the smell of fear was almost completely gone now. Matt’s main priority was keeping it that way, he could sort out his feelings later.

Jack followed Matt into the hallway, closing the door himself once they were both inside. After entering, he began tracing his hand against the wall as he walked, reminding Matt to switch the light on when they entered the living room. Jack kept close by his side, moving his head up and down as he looked around the dark forehall.

“I should really apologize about your jaw, I wasn’t thinking clearly, it was-“ Jack said.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse. It probably won’t even bruise.”

Jack snorted at the last sentence, apparently doubtful of that dismissal.

“I do appreciate your concern though.”

Jack snorted at that too. Matt allotted himself a small smile.

Some part of his brain was screaming at him, begging him to take his mask off and tell his father who he was. He had to tell Jack what he meant to him, how glad he was to have found him. Another part of his brain was furious at himself for even considering such a thing. The last thing Jack needed right now was something else to worry about. Furthermore, such a revelation might scare him away, maybe bring him to outright reject his son.

Matt still felt this situation was too good to be true, he was waiting for something to go wrong, preparing himself for the very worst.  
On the other hand, it was entirely possible Jack would figure out the truth on his own, after all, he’d already deduced Daredevil was blind. Perhaps leaving such epiphanies to happen naturally would be the best option for the both of them, or maybe it would leave Jack feeling betrayed and misled. There was no safe bet, and Matthew only had one chance to get this right.

But strangely enough, Jack seemed to actually like him as Daredevil, at least enough to engage in idle conversation. Matt didn’t want to ruin what little rapport he already had with his father. No, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do something drastic, especially not after Jack had shown similar precautions.

Outwardly calm, Matt led the way to the living room, stopping to reach for a small lamp on his coffee table, he pressed the switch and listened to the hum of the lightbulb.

He vaguely gesticulated around himself.  
“This is the living room,”

He pointed toward the sound of the refrigerator running.  
“over there’s the kitchen,”

Then in the general vicinity of the smell of chalk.  
“and I’ve got a little bit of workout room set up by the stairs, there’s a bathroom in there too, no shower in that one though.”

Jack turned in a semi-circle, taking in his surroundings. He took in a long, shaky breath before he spoke.  
“Y’know, Daredevil— look I don’t know if you do this for every zombie you come across, or if you feel obligated to do this because you know Matty, but thank you, either way, thank you.”

“You really don’t have to thank me,” Daredevil wanted to continue, to drop some hint about his true identity. Instead he moved the conversation away from himself, attempting to give Jack more context about his situation. “I felt you in that warehouse, wandering around in some kind of fugue state, and I went to investigate— and once I got a good- a good look at you I realized I recognized you. I certainly couldn’t leave you like that.”

Jack’s heartbeat shifted.  
“You felt me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was no backtracking now, Matt had to explain himself. Even as he began to elaborate he was only prolonging the inevitable, trying to buy himself just a little more time.

“Well you’ve already figured that I don’t have the best eyesight. So it might not shock you to learn that I don’t use my eyes to get around.” he paused, if Jack noticed the stop, he didn’t acknowledge it. “But my other senses are greatly heightened, even the little things, like balance and proprioception.” Another short pause. “And I have a sixth- fifth sense, radar. I produce radio waves, and they bounce off of my surroundings and come back to me. It’s a lot like how your eyes make sense of waves of light, except I’m making my own light, and I can see through walls. But it’s also a physical sensation, like I’m touching everything in a room at once.” He batted at the air as he spoke, the gesture did little to get his point across. It was hard to describe his abilities in a way that wouldn’t sound potentially invasive or predatorial, he wasn’t sure how Jack would take to the concept.

“Huh.” Jack grunted in response, bringing a hand over his mouth as he did so. His heartbeat had steadied, his breathing was regular.

Definitely not the reaction Matt had expected. Though he supposed it was sensible, considering the pretense. It hadn’t come as some great revelation about his son, but rather as more morass for him to sift through.

“I’m sorry, I understand you’re probably very overwhelmed tonight. I don’t want to make it any worse.“

“No, that’s, interesting.” Jack offered, shaking his head. Jack turned away slightly, keeping his hand on his face. “I don’t think I know what to say about any of that, or any of this, really.”

Matt exhaled, making sure Jack saw his smile, he was trying to keep himself non-threatening.

He felt relieved. Not only had that gone surprisingly well, it had been cathartic, like removing a knife from his side.

“That’s fine, you don’t have to say anything.” Matt thought about saying more, sitting Jack down and telling him how he’d acquired his abilities, then letting him piece the truth together on his own. Matt quashed the thought, he only had one chance to do this, he had to be careful. Jack was overwhelmed, and probably tired. Hell, Matt was tired, it was well into the AM.

“How about I show you the upstairs now? There’s not much left, just a few more rooms, after that I’ll leave you be.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Jack sounded flummoxed, but not frightened. Again, Matt admired his father’s resolve.

—————

Jack couldn’t understand why Daredevil was taking him under his wing. He had asked the man why and only gotten a non-answer, though that was partially his own fault, seeing how he’d derailed the conversation over Daredevil’s word choice. He’d corralled the conversation onto strange grounds by doing that.

Heedless, Jack followed Daredevil upstairs, still thinking about the man’s description of his radar. It was mundane compared to the other revelations of the night, if the man self-identified as a superhero, then it almost made sense that he would have some nonsense array of superpowers. Jack simply felt too overborne to find anything particularly notable anymore, he had felt this way since he became aware of his own death, and things were only getting worse as the night went on.

Daredevil was walking up ahead of him, leading him away from the stairs and down a pitch black hallway. Jack stopped moving about a pace behind the man. Daredevil’s silhouette turned, looming back from the darkness.

“Can we cut this short? I’m sorry, I really just want to sit down, maybe lay down for a bit. You can lead me into wherever you want me to sleep and I’ll be out of your hair until morning.”

“Of course Mr. Murdock. I was going to give you an option, you can sleep in my bed or on the loveseat in the study, which folds out into a bed.”

He was offering Jack his own bed, Jack didn’t believe it.  
“I’ll take the loveseat I guess, I’m curious enough to see what you mean by ‘the study’.”

“Alright.” Daredevil tilted his head down towards Jack. “I understand, I’m tired too.”

He walked Jack past one door and stopped at the second, opening it with a soft squeal. Inside was a rather small room, three of it’s walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, the fourth wall, opposite the door was entirely barren spare for a perfectly square window. A black, leather loveseat sat in the middle of the room, somewhere between comedic and foreboding in the low light. Jack entered first, giving the room a second assessment from inside, only now noticing an endtable that had been obscured by the sofa. There was a sticker on the ceiling. All of the books were printed in Braille.

It wasn’t very impressive, as far as studies go, but it was a nice little excess room. Jack imagined the aforementioned workout room would have a similar setup.

Entering a few steps behind Jack, Daredevil had already begun to unfurl the loveseat. Haphazardly placing both cushions on the floor before lifting the steel frame of the bed up one-handed. The springs made a strange noise as he did so, seemingly complaining about his conduct. The mattress itself was bare and stainless, as if it had never been used before.

Daredevil then patted the makeshift bed.  
“I’ll be back with a pillow and a blanket.”

He raised a hand as he left the room, leaving Jack to his own devices.

Jack stood in place, listening to the sound of footsteps while he turned to stare out the second story window.

It had begun to rain again.

A shiver ran down Jack’s spine. The reality of his situation was still crashing in on him. He didn’t remember being dead, he had no memory of heaven or hell, nothing to show for his trouble but a ratty suit and a ruined life. His eyes stung slightly, but he refused to cry. If he understood correctly, Daredevil was still watching him, still honing in on him with nigh-mechanical radar. He wasn’t going to let himself cry in front of his host. Keeping himself dry-eyed was perhaps the last semblance of control he had left, he had to keep himself level.

Daredevil returned with a fleece blanket, purple silk pajamas, and a pillow made from some material Jack had never encountered before.

He set them up on the bed without a word. He tidied the cushions he’d left on the floor, stacking them upright against a bookshelf. Then he fluffed the pillow, the pillow was made of something similar to foam, it looked exactly the same before and after the upkeep.

He was obviously drawing out his time in the room. Jack had no idea why.

Daredevil sniffed the air, taking a long moment to adjust his mask before turning halfway towards the door.

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to speak up.”

He shut the door as he left.

Jack sat hunched on the bed, watching the rain intensify. The downpour was now too heavy to see the neighboring houses.

Hopelessness coiled across Jack’s mind, vying for control of his composure. A sob was rising in his chest, he fought it off by falling backwards into bed.

Nothing made sense. He couldn’t even be sure if the sky would be blue come morning.

He felt like a right bastard, he was alive, for no good reason, twenty five years too late. He had been made into a failure, a piece of shit who had abandoned his son. And it sounded like Matty had done just fine without him. It was a good thing, Jack was proud, and probably lucky, but he felt absolutely hollow.

To keep himself stable he kept himself moving. He reached for the pajamas beside him, sitting himself upright and changing out of his damp rags. He began to change into the silk pajamas, they hung on his frame loosely, a few sizes too large for him.

Walking a steady loop around the bed he gathered his bearings. Jack’s thoughts circled back to his son. Somewhere out beyond the window there was a grown man blissfully unaware of his resurrection, probably sound asleep. Would he even want to reconnect with his father?

Would he even believe that Jack was his father? It occurred to Jack that this sort of thing might be normal by modern standards. After all, he’d just seen a man leap from a three story fire escape and then goaded the same individual into talking about his superpowers. Perhaps that was just the way things were now.

Jack was pacing now. He wondered how exactly Daredevil knew Matthew Murdock. Were they just close neighbors? That was what had been implied earlier. They might have met through the local blind community. On second thought, that was surprisingly hard for Jack to envision, he struggled to picture Daredevil without his mask. Was it normal for him to just wear that costume around town? He had to have a real name.

Jack hadn’t even considered that up until this point, he’d been too confused to ask himself coherent questions. Questions he should have been asking.

It was entirely possible that Daredevil had known Matthew for longer than Jack had; nine years didn’t make up a significant portion of a thirty four year old’s life. The thought made Jack feel ill.

This situation was out of his control, yet it was completely his fault. If he had only taken the loss, let Creel win the match, none of this would have happened. He would have gone straight home. Matt would still be up, he always was, and he’d be asking Jack questions about the fight. His dignity wasn’t worth this. He’d only wanted his son to be proud.

He sat back in bed, he couldn’t tell if he was actually tired or just mentally exhausted. Either way, laying down would be good for him. He pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, and then up over his head. This was all his fault.

he couldn’t stop himself from crying. He put up a good fight, holding his face into his pillow until he needed fresh air. When he finally moved his head, he was in tears..

He prayed to god that the sound of the rain drowned out his sobs. Pulling the blanket tighter over his head and pushing his face into his pillow.

It wasn’t long before Jack heard a knock at the door.

“Can I come in?”

Jack nodded in silence, attempting to compose himself before speaking.

The door opened after Jack nodded, of course it did. Jack hadn’t forgotten Daredevil’s summation of his radar, he was just surprised to see proof of it.

Daredevil kept to the doorway, visibly teetering between staying put and moving to Jack’s side.

I just- I’m thinking. I can’t stop thinking.” Jack didn’t elaborate much and then held his tongue as Daredevil walked up to the armrest.

Jack shifted himself back upright, tugging uncomfortably at his pajama sleeve before rolling it up along his forearm.

“I’m thinking about Matt, feelin’ guilty. I didn’t mean to get emotional– I didn’t mean to worry you.” He didn’t know if he wanted to shoo the other man off or confide all his fears, really, Jack didn’t know much of anything. “I just realized that I could’ve stopped all of this from happening, lost control of myself.”

Daredevil put a hand on the bed between them, leaning back and forward, seemingly articulating his response before he spoke.

“I wish I could do more, say more, I really do. But I need you to know this isn’t your fault, what happened to you was horrible and unfair, but you did something good. I assure you, your son- what you did- your son-“ Daredevil trailed off.

Jack availed the opportunity to speak. “I’m never going to see my boy again. And somewhere out there there’s a man who did perfectly fine without me. What the hell am I supposed to do with him?“

Jack didn’t want to believe that he could actually feel the radio waves coming off the other man. He had to be imagining things, but something was still palpable in the room, Jack felt like he was caught in a microwave.

Daredevil sat down beside him, taking a long, unsteady breath. He brought his hand to his face and begun to unwrap the mask from his head. It came off like a glove.

“Jack, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The face underneath appeared almost familiar to Jack. Square jaw, heavyset features, vibrant red hair. He looked an awful lot like Jack himself. His eyes were glassy, pale blue and lacking any visible pupil, as if the iris had scarred straight over the aperture. A faint scar trailed across the man’s face like a domino mask.

It was something of a lime burn, albeit one after years and years of healing. Twenty six years of healing, Jack came to realize.

He was a deer caught in electromagnetic headlights. He couldn’t form a coherent reaction, let alone a coherent sentence. He opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say

Daredevil- Matt- whoever the man in red was- began to panic, apologizing profusely, inching away from Jack.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I was being selfish, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No-“ was all Jack could get out from his lips.

“No- no- no.” He grabbed his son by the arm, slowly bringing him into a hug. His thoughts were racing, far outpacing him. He reached out to the other man gently, making sure he knew where he was, although, apparently, the gesture was entirely unnecessary.

Numbly, Jack’s noticed that Matt had gotten bigger than him, he rested his head on the other man’s shoulder, wondering to himself how long it had taken for his son to outgrow him.

Slowly, he pulled out of the embrace, holding the man out at arm’s length. A litany of questions arose and died in Jack’s mind, only one actually reached his mouth.

“How did you do that- doing this right now, how are you doing that?”

It had been far more comprehensible in his own head.


	5. Downpour

Initially, the situation was too surreal for Jack to respond intelligibly. Minutes ago he’d been tired and desolate enough to weep, now he was shocked numb. If Daredevil had intended to comfort him, he’d gotten halfway there. Jack was now too perplexed to wallow in his grief.  
  
And still he was holding the man in red by the shoulders, scrutinizing his face for further sign of his son. Matt seemed aware of his gaze, his eyes began tracking erratically, avoidantly tilting his face downwards.

“How am I doing this? What exactly are you asking about-, I’m doing multiple things that might— What’s-?”

Hearing the distress in Matt’s voice, Jack let go of him and shifted away, putting some space between the two men. Unable to fully gather his bearings, Jack held his head with one hand and supported himself with the other, ignobly swaying as he sat.

“I don’t- know where to begin. Should I start with what I already told you? What- What in particular are you asking about?” As Matt continued, his voice began to waver, growing ever so slightly softer with every word.

Jack’s only response was a sharp inhale. The feeling of the blanket clenched between his fingers kept him grounded to reality. Even then, he wouldn’t be surprised if he abruptly awoke on the floor of a boxing ring, vividly hallucinating after taking a hard hit to the temple. But mulling over it, Jack didn’t consider himself creative enough to concoct a dream like this.  
  
He opened his mouth and closed it again. Naturally, he would shut down in stressful situations, it had always been helpful to avoid thinking and just trust his gut. Right now, his gut was doing palpitations in his chest.  
  
“You can ask anything, because believe me, I get how- weird- this must be. I didn’t want to show you like this, but I didn’t know what else to do. And I still don’t know what to do.”

  
Jack had plenty of questions, ranging from ‘Oh Matty, why didn’t you just tell me who you were in the first place? Why on earth would you think I’d be afraid of you?’ to ‘Who the hell are you really and why are you poorly impersonating my son?’. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for Jack, he wasn’t ready to muster any of them into reality. He didn’t want to repeat his shell-shocked stuttering from before.

  
“Please, just ask something.” A downright pleading tone had snuck into Matt’s words. Jack couldn’t quite tell how long he’d been silent, but he knew it had been too long for comfort.  
  
“I-am- I’m gonna ask.” Speaking intelligibly under emotional duress had never been one of Jack’s talents. “I’m thinking.” he laughed, a nervous laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “I can’t talk when I’m thinking.”  
  
Matt scooted backwards, both physically and conversationally backing down. Jack could practically feel the tension radiating off him, it was somewhat reassuring to know he wasn’t alone in his discomposure.

  
Earlier Jack had requested to keep his resurrection secret from his son, because he thought it would be too bizarre and frightening a thing to unexpectedly drop on a man. Ironically he’d been sharing these apprehensions with Matthew himself. Now those concerns had returned, Jack realized that Matt was probably just as overwhelmed as he was. It had to be unreal, to find his father alive after so many years. But to put himself in Matt’s shoes took a level of knowledge about the current world that Jack simply didn’t have.  
  
“So what’s been going on in the wider world?” It was an impersonal, general question, a good starting place, Jack felt.

  
“Well, a lot. I have to say something that will actually mean something to you. I- uh- They changed that bar next to Fogwell’s into a sandwich shop, it’s called Dixon’s now, but it’s still the same guy running it. Yeah, and-“ he tapped his foot on the floorboards, drawing attention to the house around him. “I finally paid this place off, which means it’s actually my house, at least for ten more years. Implying nothing bad happens to it. But that’s all boring, in the wider world- about ten years back some government group found Captain America frozen in the arctic, thawed him out- and then he came back to life.”  
  
“Hmmmm,” came Jack’s response, slowly winding himself up before he said. “And that, the last bit, that’s representative of the state of things these days?”  
  
“All of it was. There’s ten completely normal events for every- other thing, and sometimes that one thing can hit close to home. - But it is acclimatable, and I know there are people who have come back from worse.”

“That’s a big leap you know, comparing me to Captain America.”

“Nn—hhaeyheesh-“

Matt had made a bizarre. strangled sound, an asphyxiated sigh pretending to be reassuring. “No-no, you’re going to adapt. I’m going to find a way to make this work. It’s going to be fine.“

Jack was struck by the responsibility Matt had just placed upon himself, it felt wrong, needing to rely on his own son.

“I see, I think I understand..” He still had questions, maybe more than he’d had before, but he kept his mouth shut, not entirely sure if he was trying to make this easier for himself or Matt.

An unpleasant silence began to settle across the study, intensified by the sound of the pouring rain. It was coming down in cataracts, rendering the view out the window a great wall of water. More of a porthole than a window at this point.

Jack remembered Matt, as he knew him, he’d always been a quiet, timid boy. Jack had always been worried about his future, more so after the accident. To some degree, he considered fretting to be just another part of a father’s job.

Bewilderment was fading from his mind as he accepted the bizarre facts. There was some relief to the situation, like he was looking in on the future to see for himself that his son would be perfectly fine. Under other circumstances, he would have been elated.

Already, he missed Matthew, his Matthew, not the well-meaning man who had taken him under his wing. He could almost hear his son’s voice buried in Daredevil’s soft bass. Something grown over, but not absent.

“You know I sorta- I expected I’d die. I didn’t know for certain, sure as shit hoped not, but I knew it was a possibility. I’d tried to prepare myself, I tried to set you up with my betting money, which would’a been good either way.” Jack was trying to smile, he wondered if Matt could feel it with his radar. “All I really wanted was to give you something, no matter what happened.”

“I always figured you knew. It made sense, even back then. I hated thinking that you’d gone and killed yourself trying to keep me afloat, but once I was old enough, I understood. Never thought I’d have confirmation though. I can’t begin to say how much you did for me, I can’t say thank you in any way that it would mean even half of what-“

It sounded rehearsed, and morbidly, Jack wondered if it was. Dolor followed the thought.

“If you hadn’t done that for me, I know I wouldn’t be where I am now-“ hit with a realization, Matt chuffed. He swiveled his head back as he glowered. “Wearing a bright red onesie and jumping off buildings.”

Jack was allayed he’d mentioned it, ‘It’ being a great number of distressing concepts that Matt had just glossed over. After the horned mask had come off, Jack had immediately, unintentionally, begun to disconnect Daredevil’s actual face from the liquid shadow from the warehouse and the amiable interloper atop his fire escape. Or perhaps he hadn’t truly considered them all as one entity until Matt had spoken that sentence.

He remembered, in great detail, the abilities Matt had described in the living room. Had he always had them? Had he kept them from Jack for months? Years?

“Yeah, that. You’re not done, we need to talk about that. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Matt looked uncomfortable for a short moment before steeling his countenance.  
“I was going to when I first found you, but then when you saw me, you panicked. You started taking swings at me and I didn’t want to scare you any worse. And I couldn’t quite tell what you were at first, if I was hallucinating or if you were some angry squatter who just smelled a lot like Jack Murdock.”  
  
Jack didn’t remember half of that, the fight in the warehouse had mostly just been unfeeling confusion on his part. He had been too angry and frightened to even remember something as momentous as his own death. That hadn’t been the subject of Jack’s question.

“No, not that, that was chaos, nobody could’ve calmed me down in there. Back home— back then, all those years ago, why didn’t you ever tell me?” It was the last thing that cast doubt on Matt’s confession. Jack didn’t want to believe his son could’ve been hiding something like this from him. He couldn’t understand why his son would hide something like this from him. “How did any of this even happen?”

That’s-“ Matt took a long, careful breath before continuing. “It was the accident when I was eight, the chemicals, the radiation, I don’t really know how it worked, but it changed me. I lost my eyesight, and I gained, other things. The balance and the radar and hearing, it started the day I woke up in the hospital.”

“And you didn’t tell me? Matt I just saw you do a dive from God Knows How Far off the ground, right off the fucking fire escape!” Jack wasn’t sure if he was pissed or concerned, both feelings were evident in his voice. Mentally, he reiterated, he’d just seen his son leap from off the fire escape, Jack was certain he’d seen that before in a nightmare.

Immediately, his query had an adverse effect on Matt, who leaned away, screwing his face into a subtle grimace. It sure as shit hadn’t been the first time Jack had sworn in earshot of his son, but he’d never actually aimed his ire at Matt before. Surprisingly, Jack felt justified, he wasn’t talking to a nine year old boy, he was talking to a grown adult, and it was fair to treat him like one.

“I was eight, I don’t know if I could have even put what was happening to me into words. I would have told you eventually, I never had the time.”  
  
The ending sentiment sent Jack crashing down into the implications of it all. Unsure how to react, not wanting to devolve into another emotional outburst, he sat stiff as a brick. Matt continued.  
  
“I regretted it, actually. I would think about how I should have told you, all the various ways I could have done it. And I still wasn’t prepared to actually tell you after all that.“

“It’s not- not your fault. I understand, I’m just shocked, getting myself used to the thought.”

Jack nodded as he spoke, certain that Matt would pick up on the gesture. He wanted to keep talking. He didn’t want to ask any hard questions, but he desperately wanted to know more about the world he’d woken up to. Curiosity eventually outweighed his caution, especially as he considered the finer details of Matt’s radar.  
  
“That’s, that’s great actually- What else can you do? From where you’re sitting right now, can you feel my face?”

Matt smiled with a sheepish sort of pride.

“It’s like a three dimensional silhouette. Everything is there, but only the edges. I can feel your face, the back of your head, the bookshelf behind you, it’s all surfaces and shapes. I can hear your heartbeat, the hitch in your breathing.” He gesticulated with his fingers as he spoke, shifting as the mattress beneath let out a groan of protest.  
  
“And that helps you jump from buildings?” The second question had came out strangled, betraying Jack’s discomfort loud and clear. “I mean, how does one get an idea like—“ he pointed towards Matt’s chest, specifically at the emblem on his suit. “An idea like that.”  
  
Initially, the gesture seemed lost on Matt, but after a moment he managed to gather the meaning of Jack’s words.  
  
“There was a context, I suppose. I mean- I’m not the only individual going around in-“ Matt tugged at the front of his jumpsuit “something like this, acting as a sanctioned-ish vigilante.” he continued pinching his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “It would be a lot worse if I was alone, right?”  
  
“I guess it would be, sure. But-”  
  
“And, blocks away, I can hear bad things happening- people being hurt. I can’t do nothing. I did have- training.”

“Training?”

“I- this won’t sound-“

In that moment, Jack heard a third voice ringing out from a room away. “Five AM, Five AM.” It interrupted robotically. Jack didn’t realize what it was until Matt addressed it.

“And -that- is my alarm,” He stood upright and took four paces back to the doorway, disappearing into the darkness. “I will be back very soon. I’m just going to take a call in sick, I’m not going to leave today.”

Jack blinked, he considered following but ultimately stayed put. The rain was beginning to wane, leaving him alone with the sound of his thoughts. In an attempt to quiet his racing mind, he laid flat on his back, closing his eyes and taking a deep, steady breath. Within moments, he had fallen asleep.

  



	6. Into the Silver Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wew lad, finally got this done. Sorry about the delay. I thought this would be finished around New Years Eve.

The sound of the alarm had come as a genuine relief to Matt. He felt a nigh physical weight lift off his shoulders as he excused himself from the study.

“Five AM. Five AM.”

He needed time to reflect on what he had just done- and just as much time to work out what he was going to do from this point onwards. In some way, he felt like the worst of it was behind him, he wouldn’t have to continue to carry on a charade to his father, all while Jack had seemed almost happy to hear about his abilities. Things seemed legitimately good. As hard as Matt tried, he couldn’t find anything immediately wrong.

With nothing immediately wrong, what was he supposed to do?

“Five AM. Five AM.”

Obviously, he was going to take care of Jack, help him back onto his feet, help him adjust to recent events and their effects on the world at large. This was fine, Matt assured himself, he had the income to support two people and a decent enough house to boot. Jack was a resilient man, he’d get his own job, eventually pull himself out of Matt’s circle of negative influence, and sure enough, Jack would be just fine.

“Five AM. Five AM.”

Matt couldn’t let himself think otherwise.

“Five AM. Five AM.”

The alarm was still ringing as he opened the door to his bedroom. The moment he reached arms’ length of his nightstand to turn the thing off its droning finally ceased; indicating that a minute had passed. Frustrated, Matt threw his mask at his bed, groaning before trying to find his phone. Matt pawed at his dresser, rummaging around the assorted clutter.

He found it near the edge and turned it on with the press of a button.

“Call work-wait- damn.” Force of habit, that number was no longer active.

He turned it off and on again in vexation before trying again.

“Call Sharpe.”

The phone began to ring. While waiting, Matt did a quick audio-radar check up on his father in the study room. From the feel of it, Jack had laid down, it was likely he was already asleep, either that or he was halfway there. A pang of envy slipped through Matt’s mind.

The phone was still ringing. After a final buzz, it reached voicemail.

Matt contorted his voice into a stuffy whisper, sniffing after every other word for emphasis. “Hello, this is Murdock from - 30-b, I’ve come down with som-ting, some illness. And since I know- it’s contagious, I just got it from a neighburr-I’m dechiding to call in sick today. I cahnt apologize enouff- but I’d hate to spread whatever it is ayve goht- thank you in advance.”

He hung up, satisfied with his faux malady. The office would have to accept his absence whether they wanted to or not, he hadn’t missed a day of work all quarter. Unfortunately nobody at the firm quite appreciated what a feat that was for him.

Rain was still pouring overhead, running off the roof before being lifted back into to the air by a strong wind. It beat against the side of the house, producing a sound almost like a woodwind instrument. Matt shut his eyes, taking in the drumming of the deluge. It was surprisingly comforting, wave after wave pounding at his radar, soaking the neighborhood, all while he was pleasantly dry.

With his current concerns sated, he permitted himself to question the nature of Jack’s resurrection. There were countless potential causes, some of them truly unpleasant, but none of them particularly convincing. He could’ve been a clone, but that wouldn’t explain why he was wearing clothes that Matt knew belonged to Jack. Theoretically, this could be a side effect of some large scale cosmic event, but that would have had wider effects, Jack wouldn’t have been alone. Or maybe it was luck? A miracle?

Maybe he being impractical to expect any explanation at all. Perhaps he was looking a gift horse in the mouth. Or, in his case, sniffing a gift horse in the mouth: no matter the reality of the situation, it wouldn’t smell pleasant. Right now, his primary concern had to be habituating Jack to his new situation, for both of their sakes, Matt’s concerns had to wait a little longer.

A buzzing sound interrupted his thoughts. He’d received a belated text in response to his voice-mail message.

“That’s most unfortunate for you, hopefully you’ll be feeling better by weeks end. Until then, you can be excused. You have my condolences but not my commiserations.” Dictated the phone’s text to speech. Satisfied enough with the reply, Matt dropped his phone into his suit pocket. He neither wanted nor needed Mrs. Sharpe’s sympathy.

He headed back through the hallway, subconsciously slipping into completely silent footsteps.

To avoid waking Jack, Matt confined himself to the doorframe, lingering on the edge of the study, carefully examining the man’s vitals.

Steady heartbeat, regular, shallow breaths; completely normal. Even as Matt focused on him, he couldn’t catch a hint of illness or decay. At worst, Jack smelled rather unpleasant, not the stench of rot, not gunpowder or bile, just residual fear, grime, and sweat. The figure he cast was unremarkable, a small, sleeping shape that Matt could have easily overlooked in his own home.

It was a sharp contrast from the great, warm, wall of a man Matt recalled from his childhood. After the accident his father had become an unmistakable shape, towering far above Matt and functioning as a beacon.

That was there and then, Matt now regarded Jack as something to protect- impermanent and endangered by just existing.

Matt slunk into the study, bringing with him a net of radio waves, reverberating off the walls and coming back to him in vivid detail.

He could almost make out Jack’s face in the feedback. Faint contours, delicate silhouettes overlaying bone. The bridge of his nose had been cracked slightly, sometime recently. As much as Matt needed to tell himself the injury was his fault it simply didn’t match with his careful movements in the warehouse. Was it from Creel? Now confused, he focused harder and took a step forward.

An intrusive memory interrupted Matt’s thoughts. Initially just a voice, then followed by other sensations.

-Matty, Matty you’re gonna be alright. The doctors they say you’re gonna be fine.-

Matt remembered the sharp, antiseptic smell of his hospital bed, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced until that point. It wasn’t just pungent, it hurt. Matt’s entire face had hurt. The blanket scratched his skin and his feet throbbed with pain.

The memory conflicted with his current condition, even after running and fighting and taking blows to the head, he was somatically numb.

-Matty you saved that man’s life, you’re a hero.-

Matt pulled his hand over his mouth, attempting to either control or halt the flood of memories.

-Feel my face, Matty I’m right here, it’s me, it’s Dad.-

Matt’s hand trembled on his own face, suddenly unsteady. He lowered his arm and took in a deep breath. The strength of the memory had winded him, leaving him profoundly uncomfortable.

Oblivious to his son’s presence, Jack shifted in his sleep, shivered, and rolled over, now facing away from Matt. He began moving his hands in small twitches, subconsciously reacting to the events of a dream. Matt cleared his head and began to sidle out of the study, but he caught himself at the doorway, unable to step out of the room.

He was still worried. Worried that this resurrection was only temporary, worried that it would be permanent. He was worried that his own presence would somehow bring horrible things down on Jack, as had happened to so many people before him. He couldn’t admit it to himself, but he was scared to turn his back on the sleeping man, and just as scared of getting too close.

Again, Jack shivered. This time Matt gave the motion a second thought. The room was rather cold- even with his training to ignore such conditions it was an unusually cold autumn night. He considered the thermostat in the kitchen, it produced a faint electrical hum even when shut off. Similar to the cold air, the hum was easy to forget about it until he actively searched it out. Instead of messing with the heater, he elected to gather some blankets from his office closet.

After returning to the study he laid a surplus blanket over Jack, holding another in his hand in case that proved insufficient. Jack shifted and without thinking, Matt dumped the third blanket atop him.

“Matty get the hellda-sleep, s’past midnight, sleep-in my bed ifya-gotta. Just- - get t- sleep.” Jack muttered. Thankfully, he hadn’t properly woken up, but it was close enough to make Matt move backwards. Even now, he felt compelled to obey Jack’s orders

As he headed back into his bedroom Matt found himself with a strange newfound confidence, a compelling notion that this was all going to work out.

It was a good feeling, so good it felt like it might last.

“Ghudnightty-Matty” Jack was only talking in his sleep now, revving himself up to snore.

“G’night Dad.” Quiet as a ghost, Matt exited the room. Tired as he was, he carried a newfound well-restedness and he was determined to try as hard as he could to make it stay.

https://imgur.com/a/helTJCI

^illustration in link

————————  
-—/////////—-  
————————

Jack awoke feeling bizarrely comfortable, draped in loose silk pajamas, surrounded by impossibly soft blankets. It was heavenly, absolutely nothing like his own bed.

He bolted upright in a panic, only then did his memories of the previous night return to him. The private library around him provided Jack with further proof of his situation, not that he really needed it.

He rooted through his blankets, realizing that they’d multiplied while he’d slept. Over the course of the night, Matt had added two more to the folding bed. Jack would have found the hospitality endearing if it didn’t strike him as a great failure on his part. He was supposed to be taking care of his son, not the other way around. He tossed the blankets up against the back of the loveseat, standing himself upright out of obligation.

At the very least, the study had become less ominous in the daylight. That, paired with the knowledge that he wasn’t at the mercy of a complete stranger convinced Jack that he was safe enough to explore the room on his own. White, Braille books peered out at him from almost every direction, one or two per shelf would be parted with a bookmark, most of them business cards or makeshift scraps of paper with Latin alphabet English scrawled onto them. Glad to see writing he could actually comprehend, Jack opened a few books up to read their bookmarks.

One was an assortment of notes on ripped paper, apparently a recycled essay ‘-As the idea of using the individuals incarcerated in the RAFT as a labor force- superhuman labor is valued, and it’s not as if prison labor is a new- considering the location, the private ownership, you may be looking at- and potentially the creation of an offshore dynamo- as another citizen of this city I implore you-“

Jack stared at the paper blankly, barely processing the words he had just read. Matthew’s loose griffonage did little to make the blurb more coherent. His penmanship had significantly degenerated in the time since Jack’s death, which was to be expected, they’d both been told that would happen with time, it was the implication of that time having passed that upset Jack.

With that, Jack considered the words themselves: Superhuman labor? Offshore Dynamo? It was complete nonsense.

Unsatisfied, Jack continued from shelf to shelf, moving on to find a typical rectangular, cardstock bookmark.

‘Ice the goose!’ It read, he blinked. It was even more nonsense, and somehow less palatable than the last strip. Maybe it was some motivational slogan? Or a printing error?

Now feeling slightly defeated, Jack grabbed a third book, pulling out a pale purple letter from its first few pages. It was handwritten in clean, professional styling-

‘Daredevil, both me and my wife sincerely thank you for your contributions to this book, your interviews, connections, and clout that helped us get this book printed. You brought a unique, affluent wit into our offices and we are both sorry to see you go.

(And of course, thank you for saving me and my car.)

Sincerely, Mr. Dewitt’

While reading the note Jack’s hand had begun to shiver; this message was not meant for his eyes.

The book shook in his hand, letting more paper slide out. Even as Jack stuffed the loose sheets back into the volume he couldn’t keep himself from seeing more. He picked two photographs off the ground, both of Matt, both with Braille descriptions printed onto tape labels. The first a picture of Matt and a small, wiry man in a hooded sweatshirt, Jack recognized the sofa they sat on as the one from the living room. The second was of a much stranger nature, Matt wore the red jumpsuit from the night before. Beside him was a man in similar getup, this one a brighter red with strange black striping. They were leaning on each other, obviously posing. The photos were trembling in Jack’s hand; he shut them tightly into the book they’d come from.

For a moment, Jack felt truly ashamed of what he’d just done. Filching through his son’s belongings, snooping through his personal life. And then embarrassment faded into rationalization. All he’d wanted was more information about the modern world, that wasn’t his fault, it was purely accidental. Unfortunately, he was still curious.

After walking a quick lap around the unfurled loveseat he decided to venture out into the hallway. It was a rather narrow corridor connecting three rooms, the study he’d just slept in, what appeared to be a home office, and Matt’s bedroom. To Jack’s eyes they were pleasant, lofty quarters, but as welcoming as they seemed Jack didn’t dare wander inside lest he stumble upon any other personal mementoes of his son’s.

Instead he treaded down the hallway, approaching the staircase. He felt like a particularly loud burglar, plodding down the stairs and into the dim of the living room. From down the hallway, a voice called out to him.

“Hi- Good morning, Jack- I made breakfast earlier, an omelette, it’s in the fridge. You can have whatever you’d like in the fridge actually. I think it’s about eleven o’clock, if that affects your choice.”

Jack stopped in his tracks the moment Matt had started speaking. Even after he’d accepted the reality of his situation last night, there was something shocking about the low, quiet rumble that he was beginning to recognize. Jack stepped further down and Matt finally came into view. He was laying down on the sofa, using something with a screen and a wire connected to his ear.

Intentionally ignoring the futuristic device in his hands, Jack noted Matt’s outfit. The red jumpsuit was gone, replaced by a sharp grey business suit and matching pants. He looked- incredibly professional. A pang of something like pride struck at Jack’s chest.

Surely enough, Jack’s impact from the night before hadn’t bruised, if he hadn’t been there himself, Jack wouldn’t have believed this man had just been in a fight.

“Yeah. I dunno what I’ll eat.” Jack had forgotten he’d been addressed, and his response had come embarrassingly late. “I haven’t eaten in twenty-odd years and I’m still not hungry.” He joked.

Jack shuffled up to the side of the sofa and sat himself across from his son. From that distance Jack found himself unable to pull his eyes off of Matt, this time the blind man seemed completely unaware of his gaze, still idling away at the device in his hand. Jack should have felt strange and invasive, but he simply couldn’t stop staring.

Matt turned to half-face him with a quizzical look on his face. “You really should eat, just to make sure you can.” Worry had crept into his voice.

Now Jack was staring at the scar across Matt’s eyes. He could still remember asking the doctor if it would heal with time, it had been such a small thing to worry about, but it was the only part of Matt’s injuries that had a chance of completely healing. Presently that scar seemed like the only thing physically distinguishing the two of them. They weren’t quite identical, but the resemblance was still uncomfortable to Jack. It wasn’t natural, they wouldn’t have looked so similar had Jack aged with the passage of time.

“Jack, are you okay? What’s-“

Cutting him off, Jack brought Matt into a hug. Matt inhaled immediately, apparently taken off guard. “I-Alright. Jack what’s hap-“ Based off his voice, the gesture had only concerned him.

“Matty- Matt I’m so sorry.” Jack whispered. He felt like he was hugging a brick wall, stiff and still. Massive trapezius muscles shifted as Matt raised an arm to pat Jack’s back.

“Please don’t be sorry, whatever happened to you, I know you didn’t do it. Trust me, you did- you’re doing fine. This is just, unusual, for the both of us, but it’s not your fault.” After speaking, Matt sighed, the movement in his chest took Jack with it, pushing him away and then bringing him in. “Jack, you’re gonna have to stop doing this.. you don’t smell too good.”

“Oh dear.” Jack laughed, backing out. “Is that really bad for you, I mean with the super smell or whatever?”

“It’s not pleasant, but I’ll survive, somehow.” Matt was laughing too, turning his head down as he did such.

Retroactively, it explained plenty, Matt had become incredibly fickle after the accident, complaining about things Jack never would have noticed himself. But it seemed a lot of that sensitivity was gone now, after Matt had been left to adapt to the world on his own.

“God, I’m sorry.”

Matt placed his hands on Jack’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “Stop it! Stop being sorry.”

Leaning back, Jack groaned. “Apologizing makes me feel like I’m in control of all this, it gives me a sense of culpability y’know.”

“I get it, I do.”

A moment passed where both men sat in silence. Matt disconnected the wire from his ear, rubbing the rubber nub at its end as he leaned back into the sofa. Time passed sluggishly until Matt got up and walked into the kitchen, returning with a slice of wheat bread and a small section of omelette. He set it on a napkin as he placed the bundle on the coffee table.

“I’m not gonna make you eat that, I’m just setting it out to make it easier if you want to.”

Jack placed it on his lap, it wasn’t that he was full, rather that he wasn’t hungry at all. But if Matt has made this for him, he felt he was contractually obligated to eat it. At the very least, it looked a lot more appetizing than anything Matt had made beforehand. Smiling at the memory of burnt toast, Jack brought the bread to his mouth, unsure if he should narrate the motion.

Matt opened his mouth to speak before going stock stiff, his eyes were wide, and he jumped up immediately.

“Matt, what’s-“

“Son of a bitch- shit- Foggy.”

“What‽”

“He’s right- he’s a guy from work, a friend.”

“Foggy? Why’s he called that?”

Matt didn’t answer, he was already jogging for the door, running a hand through his hair and placing a pair of round sunglasses over his face.

The doorbell rung the moment Matt opened the door.

“Fog, I called in sick today. What’s wrong?”

“That’s what’s wrong Matt, you don’t call in sick. I know somethings up and I want to know what it is.” This voice was pressing, somewhere between agitated and concerned. Trying to get a good look at the speaker, Jack peered into the hallway. Foggy was short, about a half a head under Matt, rather plump with medium length brown hair that covered the tops of his ears. Unfortunately for Jack, Foggy saw him too.

“Matt, who the hell is that‽”

“I-hey!”

Foggy burst inside, brushing past Matt and stopping in the forehall.

“Hey, wait, don’t yell at him!” Raising his voice, Matt turned to steer Foggy away from Jack, between the suit, sunglasses, and build he looked something like the worst club bouncer in the world.

Jack ducked away from the stranger approaching him. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have found the man even remotely intimidating, but given recent affairs, he couldn’t be sure if this man had the ability to strike him dead with a bolt of lightning or completely erase his mind.

“Damnit Foggy! This is Jack, Jack Murdock, my father.”

Foggy stopped in his tracks. He just sort of stood in place, turning his head back and forth as he looked from Jack to Matt and then from Matt to Jack.

“Matt that’s bullshit, and I completely believe that you’re trying to tell me the truth, but that’s bullshit anyway.” Foggy grimaced as he spoke, but then turned to Jack and pulled his face into a pained smile, extending a hand forward as he did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t normally like begging for comments but I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me if the illustrations are working for you. If this method works out for everyone I’ll try to keep it up in future chapters. Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/QZFglkn  
> ^Bonus illustration here


	7. Changeling vs Replicant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changeling: a concept in mythology, a family member replaced by another entity
> 
> Replicant: a concept in science fiction, an Android entirely identical to a human, often having access to real human memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eager reminder that the following backstory for Foggy’s nickname is 616 canon.

After a moment’s hesitation Jack took a step forward and shook the stranger’s hand. Steadying his resolve, Jack had decided he wouldn’t let himself be afraid of an out of shape man only two-thirds his size, besides, if he was to turn tail on Foggy his closest feasible shelter would come in the form of shuffling behind his own son like a frightened child. For his sake as much as Matt’s, Jack refused to indignify himself in such a manner.

Only as the handshake came to an end did Jack realize how sweaty his palms had become. Before he could apologize for the nuisance, Foggy wiped his hand against his pant leg and Jack inadvertently brought a hand over his face.

For some reason, most likely due to his connection with Matt, Jack wanted to make a good impression on this man, even if that was a trifle beyond his current capacity. Instead he was visibly restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He didn’t know what exactly would be considered proper behavior twenty five years into the future, hell, he barely knew proper behavior in his own time.

But it quickly became obvious Foggy’s greeting had been little more than a formality as he turned away and began to walk ahead of Jack and Matt, entering the living room on his own. He gave Jack’s omelette a sideways glance and then sat where Jack had been sitting. Matt followed him in silence, leaving Jack alone in the forehall.

As he sat down on the other end of the sofa he began to question Foggy.  
“Are you missing work for this? Did you come into the office and then leave- because wasn’t in?”

“I came in and then I excused myself, because I didn’t know if you were bleeding out in an alley somewhere or horribly injured or brutally immobilized in some way-“ and then he stood, pointing at Jack. “Or dealing with something like this.”

Jack couldn’t take offense, he was too alarmed and appalled by Foggy’s first two concerns. He hadn’t previously considered how dangerous Matt’s night job must have been, he didn’t have any frame of reference for what it even entailed. Was that a serious possibility? Matt bleeding out- broken? He wanted to interject over it, but he couldn’t bring himself to impede, he still wanted to hear more.

“Well, I appreciate your concern. I do. But I’m fine- just dealing with something. Do you know if you’re going to go back to work?”

“Well I don’t know- should I go back to work?”

Matt paused, he seemed conflicted, weighing multiple potential responses to avoid tasting foot.

Foggy continued. “Matt, you know that this is-” he gave Jack a strange, almost defensive look. Jack didn’t know how to characterize the man’s demeanor, he seemed downright protective of Matt, wordlessly warning Jack to keep away. “I know I can’t do anything that you can’t, but I don’t want to leave you here on your own when I have no idea what the hell is going on here!” He’d sped up the tempo of his voice as he spoke, quickening his steps alongside his words, going from standing to pacing.

Jack interrupted, stepping into the living room as he spoke.  
“He’s not alone, he’s with me.”

There was a moment of hesitation where no man present wanted to proceed further into the discussion. Foggy broke the silence with a whisper. “And that- is exactly why I’m worried.”

Jack understood, because this wasn’t normal by any standard. His eyes shut themselves before Matt wrestled Foggy back onto the sofa, but the sounds of the ordeal gave him a fairly good picture of what had just happened. “Foggy!” Matt chastised, “damn it- this is why I can’t deal with you here right now. I can’t handle all this!”

“Matt-Matt just tell me more about what is going on. Explain this, help me calm down.” His words had been stretched steady, forcing himself to stay reasonable despite his fear.

In the short period of time in which he had known this man, Jack had already fostered a respect for Matt’s new friend. Despite all odds, even despite his own capabilities when compared to Matt’s, Foggy seemed determined to keep his co-worker safe from harm- and he’d decided that Jack was a potential source of harm.

“I can’t explain what I don’t understand myself Foggy! He just showed up in a warehouse on Katskill.” Matt stood himself between Jack and Foggy, tapping a socked foot against the hardwood. Jack wasn’t sure if he was being sheltered or hidden from view. “I just found him, disoriented and scared, wandering around in a haze.”

“I, I just I-“ Jack interjected, cutting himself off when neither man turned to face him.

“And you’re gonna go off of that alone. He just showed up and you just found him? There’s a million things that could mean, he might be a shapeshifter- an alien- something specifically made to target you.”

The conversation continued even as Jack’s focus began to falter. They were debating something Jack hadn’t yet considered: whether or not he was actually himself. Upon introspection, this question was uncomfortably hard for him to answer. As far as he knew, he had come into being about twelve hours ago, only to later recall the other thirty eight years of his life.

The thought vexed him, simply because it hadn’t occurred to him before. He didn’t know if he was himself, he didn’t know what not being himself would feel like.

He heard a strangled “Damn it Fog, you’re scaring him.” .

Followed by “And he’s scaring me!”.

But Jack wasn’t exactly scared. Given the context of the past twelve hours, he didn’t know what he was. The stranger had a point.

He knew he shouldn’t get involved with the debate, even if he wasn’t Jack Murdock, he knew he wasn’t a calm man. If he entered the argument he’d be yelling and screaming in a matter of minutes, maybe even throwing punches, he didn’t want to get started. He held himself out of it, not wanting to hold himself back.

Feeling both pernicious and overwhelmed, Jack wordlessly excused himself from the conversation he hadn’t been a part of in the first place. Unthinking, he retreated into the nearest room with a door: the workout room.

The moment Jack closed himself inside he felt himself begin to calm. Taking in his surroundings, everything in the space was identifiable and familiar. Even the apparatuses he would never use himself, gymnasts’ hoops and balance beams, evoked a pleasant regularity. These were normal, pleasant things.

On the far left of the room Jack saw a bathroom with a half shut sliding wood door. Unthinking, he moved towards it and peered inside, finding nothing more than a toilet, a sink and-

He had jumped at his own reflection, nearly stumbling backwards at the sight of a dusty mirror. It was the first time he’d looked at his reflection since before his final fight. He looked about the same as he had then, only now significantly worse for wear, unshaven, wild eyed. Aside from the silk pajamas, there was nothing new. As he turned back into the gym his eyes caught on his profile, finding a reddish flawing on his ear.

Just last night he’d had a mild case of cauliflower ear growing over his scapha, it wasn’t there anymore. He’d had that lump for nearly a decade. It looked like the twisted cartilage had been forcefully scraped off of his ear. After running a finger across the bruise, he found it was sore.

It wasn’t a very good clean up however. The tattered edges of his ears still gave him away as a man who’d taken a lot of head trauma throughout his life. Hell, he suspected the hack fix would result in his ear growing back even more gnarled. But it confused him, who would even do something so pointless? What could possibly be gained from gussying up a dead boxer’s ear?

Maybe it was just a side effect of whatever process had brought him back to life. Maybe it was ridiculous to assign intent to something so meaningless?

“Fuck this.” He whispered.

Jack took a step backwards, still rubbing his ear. Of course, if something had removed the growth, it had to have actually been there in the first place. It was subtly reaffirming, for that injury to have existed, he must have been repeatedly punched in the head, which was a definite point in favor of him really being himself, and he almost went back into the living room to share his discovery-

Only then did he realize that the sounds of argument had died down. He didn’t want to start it up again by announcing that someone had taken a chunk off his ear.

His eyes darted about the workout room, eventually landing on a blue, canvas shape hanging from the ceiling. A punching bag. Familiarity drew him closer. He didn’t have to think to come to a conclusion: if he was Jack Murdock, striking this bag would slake him.

On a more conscious level, he just wanted to hit something until his fists were sore. It wouldn’t fix his problems, but it would keep him from thinking about them. He stepped up to the bag and began to beat at the thing. Smooth, rhythmic movements, simple, easy, muscle memory.

 

——-  
Illustration here>>> https://imgur.com/a/1z4LRBH  
——-

 

Outside, the argument had returned, he could hear Foggy say. “What‽Then do you know anything about where he came from?”

“I don’t. You’re right. You win. But you know what? And you should know this. I can tell he’s not lying to me, even if he’s not truly Jack Murdock, he completely believes that he is.”

There was a long silence after that, only punctuated by the sound of Jack’s fists on canvas. In his haste he hadn’t bothered to wrap his hands, they were both beginning to grow sore, he continued regardless.

Still he started to slow. The voices hadn’t stopped, but they’d dulled into a twin mumble, impossible to understand through thick brick walls. Jack’s silk pajamas dragged against the ground, snagging against the calluses on his feet.

Time passed and Jack had exhausted himself, breathing heavily as he leaned against a balance beam. There was a knock at the door.

He nodded.

The door pulled open.

“I’m sorry about that. Foggy is too, he was just concerned- for me.”

Leaning back onto the support beam, Jack wasn’t sure what to say, even when being addressed. He didn’t feel bad about excusing himself, if he’d stuck around any longer he probably would have escalated the conversation into a right fistfight. If anything, he’d made a smarter than average decision while trying to make a good impression on his son’s friend.

“S’fine, gave me some time to think at least.” He elected not to mention the missing piece of his ear.

“Neither of us meant to-“

“No I’m fine, just took a little break that’s all.” It was mostly true, he didn’t feel dejected, he understood why Matt’s friend was wary of him. He considered the notion that Matt had a friend loyal enough to visit him after a single absence at work, a man that Jack had never seen before in his life, who had probably known Matt longer than he had.

“Do you want to come out now? If not I’ll let Foggy eat your omelette.”

Jack snorted a fake laugh. Just signifying that he registered the joke. His thoughts were wandering now, even as he headed back towards the living room. “I should- I will.” He’d forgotten entirely about the omelette, he must have spent a good twenty minutes in the workout room, hopefully, that would contribute to an appetite of some kind.

Smiling with his mouth shut, Matt held the door open for Jack.

Foggy sat on the sofa, staring morosely at Jack’s omelette. “Hello, Mister Murdock. Thank you for waiting.” He stood up and approached Jack. “I’d like to apologize to you, whatever happened, It’s not your fault and I shouldn’t blame you. I’ll properly introduce myself this time- I’m Foggy Nelson, I work at the same law firm as M- your son.”

There was no handshake this time, and Jack was secretly grateful.

He noticed the way Foggy had corrected himself by switching out Matt’s name with an epithet. It was obvious Foggy still didn’t quite buy his story, but Jack appreciated the conversational olive branch. His thoughts were pensive, and they could have lent themselves to a number of responses, instead Jack went with the first question he’d had about Foggy.

“And that’s your real name- Foggy?”

Behind him, Matt started laughing loud and hard. In turn, Foggy also chuckled.

“It’s a nickname- your son gave it to me actually- back in college.” Something stroppy had slunk into his words.

Matt explained further, sounding absolutely pleased with himself. “He snored like a foghorn, and that got shortened a few times-“

“And it stuck.”

Jack smiled, purposefully ignoring the confirmation that this man had known Matt longer than he had. He returned to his seat beside the armrest and finally began to eat the omelette, it felt as if days had passed between the time he’d been introduced to his breakfast and when he finally managed to fritter at it. Despite the interval it had spent gathering dust the omelette still tasted fine. He would have commended Matthew on it if he didn’t feel as if the time for that had passed.

Instead he ate in silence, quietly observing Matt and Foggy’s conversation.

They spoke about work, Jack didn’t realize they were telling jokes until they were both laughing. He didn’t know what was funny, even after replaying the last few sentences in his his head. All legal jargon sounded the same to him.

It didn’t take long for the two to slip into a comfortable silence. Comfortable enough for Jack to shut his eyes and learn his head back against the fabric of the the sofa. He didn’t notice when Matt left the room, the next thing he paid mind to was the sensation of Foggy sitting down across from him.

He was staring at Jack.

“Look, you need to know, no matter who you are. Matt idolizes his father, idolizes you, and if he finds out that you’re what- a shapeshifting space alien- The Chameleon. You’re gonna be in for all sorts of pains.”

The words themselves were threatening, but Foggy’s tone was plain, merely stating facts.

“And if you really are Jack Murdock, you still need to know that. The day after I met him he started talking about you, like you were the greatest man he’d ever known. He wanted to be just like you. Don’t forget that.”

Jack couldn’t entirely stop himself from smiling at the concept. Even if he was being pressured into compliance by a skilled professional speaker, he’d never been so glad to hear something. And with that, he couldn’t quite believe it. It was hard to picture anyone admiring him that much, especially not his skilled, well-educated, and apparently superpowered son.

Foggy seemed to note his smile, and eased up his demeanor. Jack wondered if this was some sort of test.

“And I don’t know how much you know- about him. But no matter I should clearly express: He can feel a lie, hear it, smell it, whatever. He knows when you lie. And I don’t want you letting-”

There was a loud huff from the stairwell, Matt stood with his lips pursed and his eyes slightly shut. Foggy pointed at him, effectively silenced.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you went back to work?” Matt asked.

There was no tension to it, Foggy shrugged in response and began to head back out the door. He didn’t seem surprised by the interruption, in fact, he likely expected it.

Jack stood up while both of them were having a conversation outside. If he wasn’t certain Matt would spot him he would have inched closer to the shut door, trying to pick up more of what was being said. Rather, he headed back into the gym, having decided it was the most pleasant room in Matt’s home.


	8. Founder’s Mutation

Jack had returned to the punching bag, but now he’d eased up his attack. With one more stressor gone, he allowed himself to slip into slow, forceful strikes. He focused more on his form than his frustrations, but that didn’t stop the expenditure of energy from helping him clear his mind.

Between sessions, he took short breaks, laying on the hardwood flooring and thinking about his future. He needed a job of some kind, he wondered if could go back to boxing, and then he wondered if the sport had changed beyond recognition in the past twenty five years. Brief images of superpowered cage matches and alien opponents danced in his head.

He’d heard Mr. Nelson refer to aliens like a real possibility, more of a acceptable explanation than an inexplicable theory. Of course there were aliens, it was the future. 

Or not, maybe that said more about Mr. Nelson himself than it did the world at large. That understanding didn’t mesh with the impression of Foggy he’d gotten during his encounter with the man. Jack considered carefully, Foggy had seemed too grounded, and too legitimately concerned to be jumping to outlandish conclusions. He recalled more of what Foggy had said-

\- I didn’t know if you were bleeding out in an alley somewhere or horribly injured or brutally immobilized in some way-

Jack took a shallow breath. He stopped beating at the canvas bag. Horrible thoughts rose up in his mind as quickly as he could expunge them. 

Teetering from the ball of his heel to the pad just before his toe Jack wondered whether things would be the same had he never have died. Of course, there was no stopping the turn of the earth, if the world was determined to become a much stranger place during the past two decades then there was nothing he could have done to stop it, but maybe he’d have been able to keep Matt safe from it. Safe from whatever Foggy had been worried about.

He hiked up his loose pajama bottoms and stretched his back, mentally debating whether or not he should head back into the living room. Before he could decide, he saw a figure in silhouette, hiding in the far edges of his vision. With a yelp, Jack jumped backwards into the punching bag, he had nearly fallen to the ground before he finally realized what he was looking at.

For his part, Matthew looked mortified. 

“I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you, I wasn’t- I was just behind you, watching! I’m sorry I should’ve announced myself when I came in.”

Turns out Matt had sidled into the gymnasium after Jack. 

Currently he was squatted atop the far edge of the balancing beam, looking somewhat like a vulture rendered human. It was a bizarre pose, Jack noted, his knees were pressed up against his chest, pushing forwards with every breath. His balance seemed to come from his right hand, laxly hanging onto the wooden supports. Jack had never seen someone sit like that. 

“Alright, that’s okay then,” Jack said.

Really that was all he could say, seeing Matt crouched like that was weird, frightening even, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak that out loud. The risk of bullheadishly chasing Matt off was too high. Matt had seemed so afraid of scaring Jack that it was going to his head.

He thought back on Matt, the kid he remembered, how he’d developed a similar knack for stealth after the accident. Now that carried an entirely different series of connotations, it was one thing to almost bump into a small child, and completely separate thing to turn around to see a six foot man burled over a wooden perch. Jack had been scared nearly out of his skin, and he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He felt bad about it, he remembered the terror in Matt’s voice after he’d taken off his mask.

“You want a go?” He asked. “With the bag. Yeah.”

Matt smiled, but narrowed his eyes as he did so, his face fused into an altogether sort of worried, sheepish expression. Apparently, he’d caught onto Jack’s frayed nerves. How could he not?

“Or- hey- how about sparing with me?” Jack continued. He was compensating for his earlier panic, but also trying to build familiarity. The kind of familiarity one is supposed to have with their family members.

“Oh.” Was Matt’s only response. He let go of the beam and somehow managed to land on his feet. He took a step closer to Jack and then stopped in his tracks. “This is a bad idea, I really shouldn’t.”

Jack sighed, “It’s fun, just for fun. C’mon.”

Matt’s frown was uninspiring at best, but he still raised his arms in what amounted to a gesture half shrug and half squaring up. He just waited, holding the pose until he was forced to react.

On a very basic level, Jack understood that this caution came from Matt being afraid of accidentally causing him harm. But Jack Murdock was not known for his strong sense of self preservation and his curiosity had him by the gut now, he still couldn’t quite believe that the red-clad shape from the warehouse was really his son. He wanted to see the transformation with his own eyes.

When Jack finally lunged forward Matt was already gone, he’d slipped beneath Jack’s fist and disappeared behind him. Before Jack could turn he felt himself being lifted up from behind. Matt had to be sitting atop the punching bag, holding Jack up a foot off the ground. From an outside perspective, it surely must have looked ridiculous, a man in a suit and tie hanging himself from a chain, lifting a man in silk pajamas up by the armpits. 

But before Jack could comment on the hold, Matt let him down gently, huffing slightly as he did so. Matt then hopped onto the ground ahead of Jack.

In theory, Jack had gotten what he’d wanted, sort of. He’d brought back the evasive figure from the previous night, but whatever had just happened sure as hell didn’t fit any normal definition of sparring.

“That wasn’t what I meant Matt,“ he was breathing heavily, maybe from the workout he’d already had that day, but probably from the shock of being manhandled by his son.

“Just y’know, something normal, relaxing, an exchange of blows.” Really, he didn’t know how Matt normally fought, even the idea of Matthew ‘fighting normally’ was alien to him. He raised his fists in a gesture of goodwill, and he couldn’t help but feel absolutely absurd when Matt regarded him like a puzzle, he tilted his head from side to side.

Then Matt tilted his head downwards and brought a hand over his mouth. He was trying to hide a smile, and failing at it.

“I’m sorry that was- that was uncalled for really.” He kept talking. “Would you believe I’m nervous?” 

Jack believed it. He raised his hand and let out a noncommittal grunt. “I’m not gonna make you do anything,” his face felt hot, hopefully Matt couldn’t feel something as subtle as a blush. “I’m sorry, I’m just curious, I see you- doing things- things like that and I’m just- really I’m in awe.”

Matt placed his hand on his own shoulder, tugging on himself as he took a step back

“Where’d you learn to fight like that? Did you even have to learn- or when you were hit- when you- did you just know?”

The sound Matt made was absolutely pathetic, paired with another stride backwards. Jack knew he’d just done something wrong but he didn’t know what.

“This sounds bad, but it’s not as bad as it sounds”

Jack’s chest was growing sore. What was happening? What had he done?

Matt’s eyes were closed now, he looked ashamed of something. Jack simply didn’t understand, back twenty years ago he’d told Matty that he had wanted his boy to stay away from fighting, because he couldn’t stand the thought of his son getting hurt. But Jack didn’t honestly feel like he had any authority over the grown adult in front of him.

“After you died, and after I went to St. Aggies-“

Jack had honestly never considered Matt becoming a fighter too much of a possibility after the accident, not just because Matt was blinded, but because his son seemed too bright to fall into the same traps that he had. 

“I was- I was taken in by an organization, and they showed me how to fight. It was really just one guy I ever interacted with, but he represented a greater force. Once he realized I had the abilities I do, he realized that I could make a great soldier for his cause. So he tried to raise me for a while-”

Matt was trying to buffer the effect of his by smiling, but that only made Jack focus harder on their implications. There was a certain gravity to the idea of ‘adopting a child with superhuman abilities for the express purpose of making a solider’ that kept Jack from picturing a children’s karate class.

It made sense, in a horrible, fucked up way. Unlike most of the information Jack had been allocated this was something he could easily fit into his previous understanding of the world. He had died, and then his son was left alone in a dangerous world where people would want to take advantage of a book-smart but ultimately very naive kid.

“He was called Stick, he taught me, trained me, decided I wasn’t what he was looking for, and then when that didn’t work out he dropped me back off at the nunnery-” Matt continued.

Air entered Jack’s mouth in thin threads as he gasped through gritted teeth. He was furious, and then his fury faded into shame. There was nothing he could do to stop what had already happened, but he still blamed himself, and now that a new person had been introduced to the equation he blamed that man too. Chances were this ‘Stick’ had the capacity to beat him into mincemeat, but Jack still wanted to have a go at him.

“It wasn’t long, but I retained a lot of, and I took the important stuff and I improved it in my own way.” He could obviously sense Jack’s duress and now an apologetic tone had seeped into his words. “I’m fine, I really am.”

“Matty,” Jack said consciously for the first time since he’d met this man. “I believe you, I think you’re just fine.” He wasn’t sure if what he’d said was reassuring, but he hoped it was.

A sad smile crept over Matt’s face as he bowed his head downwards. “Thank you.”

Some time passed where very little happened, Jack broke this spell of inactivity by sitting on the floor beneath him. The silence took on a certain reverence as Matt sat himself beside his father. Jack considered breaking it by mentioning his tattered ear but then stopped himself, it simply wasn’t important, certainly not important enough to ruin this quiet moment.

The whole room suddenly seemed very small to Jack, too familiar and too sheltered from the rest of society. Nice as this was, he couldn’t expect his reprieve to last. Sooner or later he would have to go outside, get clothes that fit him. He dreaded it, but he was going to need a job, even if Matt’s lawyer money could support them both Jack wasn’t going to let himself loaf around for the foreseeable future. This was the real world now, and if he could get a job washing spaceships he’d take it, he needed to adapt to the things outside of the four walls protecting him.

Naive as that was, he didn’t feel alone. He trusted Matt, he trusted the big, hardy, Lawyer/Superhero that had apparently matured out from the skittish kid he recalled. 

Remembering the old Matt struck Jack as oddly sad. It had been hard to properly connect this new adult with the nine year old he still thought of whenever Matt was mentioned in conversation. Now it fit together perfectly, after his father had died Matt had nothing to protect him, so he adapted, picking things up from others, teaching himself, dragging himself by the belly if need be. It made Jack proud, but he missed the tenacious little Matt he was proud of.

Earlier while learning the origins of Foggy’s moniker it hadn’t occurred to him, but now Jack realized he had no idea what his son looked like while in college. Thinking about it too hard made his head hurt. For some reason he ruminated on the prospect of Matthew’s appearance in college longer than any other subject he’d just pondered.

The two men sat together for an indeterminate amount of time before Matt began to lean on Jack’s shoulder. It took Jack longer than he’d like to admit to realize that this wasn’t just a sign of endearment, but also a sign that Matt had fallen asleep. Jack was too busy considering the haircuts that would have been popular ten years ago and well into his idea of the future.


End file.
